


empire of dirt

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: (established Zalex and Winsty), Alternate Universe - Prison, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Addiction, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prison Issues: drug use + coercion + dubious consent, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-02 00:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: When a riot breaks out in Crestmont Correctional Facility, who will survive - and who will they sacrifice in order to do so?(Prison AU where most of the characters are remanded in, or work in the same maximum security prison, instead of a high school.)Clustin is the main ship and focus of this story, but Zalex and Winsty and the others get screentime too don't worry.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Jsyk: Monty isn't going to hurt Tyler, beyond Monty frightening him, with his standard personality and anger issues like in S1.

Clay swallowed thickly, conscious of the nervous itch in his palms. He was careful not to fidget or otherwise draw attention to himself, though he knew his palms were sweaty. He sighed when the warden skimmed over him without a truly piercing look. He had expected more scrutiny, and was now trying to keep a lid on his mounting confidence. It wasn’t until the woman closed the file and held out a hand for him to shake, that Clay felt he could breathe again.

“Welcome aboard, CO Jensen,” said the affable woman.

Clay offered her a subdued smile and a strong handshake.

When he left the office, Clay walked stiffly and without hurrying, aware of the security cameras all throughout the complex. He didn’t want to appear unprofessional, in case she changed her mind.

The prison had three cell blocks, plus the psych ward, medical ward, and solitary confinement unit, better known as the SCU. Guards mostly worked in rotating shifts within a single block, aside from the specially trained psych ward officers who remained in there. Much to his relief, Clay had been assigned to cell block A, which was general population. He’d only worked in minimum security prisons before, and he didn’t relish the idea of jumping into max with the crazies. Yet he knew it was mostly just going to be the same old shit.

He recalled how minimum security had seemed extremely dangerous at first. Now however, Clay was no more bothered coming into state pens than he was walking into a supermarket. He guessed that really said more about him and the apathy of humanity at large, than it did about the prison system in the USA. Clay had to pay the bills somehow, and this is what he was good at. There wasn’t much point searching for something more glamorous, when the benefits package at Crestmont Correctional covered everything he needed.

So Clay’s first day at Crestmont Correctional began the same way his working life had done since he had completed his psychology degree. Clay arrived with plenty of time to go through security, change in the locker room, and eat a snack before his shift began. He was working with many familiar faces; the nearby minimum security facility had recently gone bankrupt, and most of the COs had applied for positions at CC instead of shaking up their whole career.

Clay had been nervous about his interview, knowing the Warden of Crestmont had a reputation for being an icy bitch, but he’d actually found her pretty pleasant. She was smoothly professional, without making him feel unwelcome or inadequate, and her manner put Clay at ease enough that he didn’t babble out of nervousness for a change. Though he’d grown in confidence since college, Clay still had moments of anxiety, and it was like blood to a shark in prison. He knew better than to project anything but unwavering confidence in front of the inmates. He’d learnt that the hard way.

\---

“Check out CO Barbie,” drawled Bryce, jerking his head toward where the newbie stood in a crisp, neatly starched uniform that was clearly brand new, “What’s his deal?”

Monty narrowed his eyes looking at the newcomer with disdain.

“You want me to dig?” he offered immediately, always eager to show his loyalty to Bryce.

Justin smirked. Though he wanted to point out Monty’s needy desire for approval, he refrained. Monty was violent as shit, and Justin had gotten back from a week-long stint in the SCU for fighting, only two days ago. He had no desire to go back so soon. Plus, getting into a fight with members of your own crew made your whole outfit look weak as well, and that would piss Bryce off. So he let it slide this time, and kept on quietly eating his prison slop.

Eventually, Justin glanced up at the new screw stood next to CO Dempsey. He was more interested in what Dempsey was up to than in satisfying Bryce’s curiosity. So there was a new screw, so the fuck what? Since the kindergarten down the road went bust, all the screws were flocking to Crestmont, it wasn’t big news. But Dempsey was interesting; he was tipped to be the next head guard. There was rumours Head Guard Cooley was transferring upstate to become a warden. Justin hoped the rumours were true; Cooley was a hardass bootlick, but Dempsey was at least marginally better.

While eyeing up the familiar CO, Justin noticed Bryce was right, the new guard _was_ pretty. The new screw had naturally black hair, pouty lips and bright blue eyes, in a baby face. Justin wondered who the hell thought it was a good idea to dangle a slab of fresh meat like that out there in gen pop, just begging to get violated.

Justin _also_ knew the baton strapped to the CO was no joke. Those things could kill a man, if you cracked them in the same place too many times. And he had no doubt CO Jensen (if he was reading the tag correctly from this distance), knew just how to make it really sting.

Justin had long since realised the sweetest-looking screws were usually the most fucked up psychos of them all, in order to compensate for walking about looking like a wet dream. Justin honestly pitied the first guy that tried it on with CO Barbie, and got into a world of hurt because of it. Unless it was that creep Down, because fuck that guy.

\---

Tyler pushed his prison slop about mindlessly, with a pathetic sigh. He hated the food almost as much as the dingy, depressing grey walls of prison. But anything was better than staying in his cell, and possibly being confronted by his cellmate Monty, when no one else was around.

Tyler had heard Monty was an explosively volatile psycho, who got sent down for beating a guy to death with his bare hands. Now, he was a high-up enforcer in one of the strongest gangs in Crestmont. Monty went through cellmates like toilet paper; chewing them up and spitting them out into medical, until they were transferred to another cell for their own protection.

Tyler had been terrified Monty would murder him in his sleep, or try to rape him. But so far the guy had only loomed over him menacingly, shoved him about a bit, and told him to shut the fuck up. It was enough to scare the hell out of Tyler, but Cyrus kept insisting that he’d be fine if he kept his head down. Tyler could only pray that would be the case.

\---

Justin shoved his dirty slop tray into the cleaning stack without much investment in seeing that it got in properly. He nonchalantly followed the rest of the Tigers, his crew, over toward the weights room. There wasn’t much to do in prison other than get fucked up or lift, and Justin liked to do both. Most of the guys in the Tigers were on something, since Bryce was main dealer on block A.

Just as Justin was itching at his blue jumpsuit idly, trying to decide if he wanted to work his quads or arms first, the distinctive sound of the prison alarms began to blare. With the instinct borne of years hopping in and out of juvie then max, Justin tossed aside the small stash he was holding, before calmly kneeling then laying face-down, on the cold, grimy concrete. He waited, emotionless, for the COs to come and spit in their faces, as they yelled at whoever the fuck had set them all off this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments = 😍💖😘💜😎


	2. -1

"Alright inmates, you know how we do!" came the familiar yell from CO Dempsey, once the alarms had been silenced. "Lockdown!"

Justin felt the collective groan of his fellow cons, despite the fact they all remained silent. He felt their exhausted irritation in his soul. After any incident, or when the guards just felt like being even more dick-ish than usual, they had to return to their cells for at least 12 hours. Lockdown meant all activities; rec time, library trolly, chow time, visitation, conjugal... all that shit was cancelled.

They got slop delivered to their cells of course, but there was no chance to stretch your legs. It wasn't so bad if a lockdown was called in the evening, so you could sleep. But on visitation day or something, it was a bitch for most guys. Justin didn't really care about it though. The only one who ever visited him was his lawyer. His mom was a junkie. She was always strung out at home, or else banged up inside herself. Justin didn't even know for sure if she was still alive. They rarely talked.

He lined up behind Scott, a member of their crew who just got back inside for violating his parole, and they began the slow, humiliating shuffle back to their cells.

"Yo Dempsey, what's this all about?"

Fucking _Monty._ Justin glared at the back of his head, willing him to shut up, before they all got thrown in the SCU.

"Keep moving, inmate!" barked the new screw, CO Jensen.

From the angle of Monty's head as he turned, Justin could see how Monty was smirking. He was clearly challenging the new guy, just to see how he'd react. This was all Bryce's fault for expressing interest in the new screw. If they ended up in the SCU, Justin might actually have to shiv Bryce, once they got back out. He was so sick of this bullshit.

"Did I stutter?" said CO Jensen, his voice dropping dangerously low.

One of his pale hands was resting on his baton, which was still strapped to his thigh. The inmates around them tensed, avoiding eye contact but stilling, ready to watch the mayhem unfold. Justin wasn't the only one happy to see Monty about to get a beatdown. But he was likely the only one chubbing up at the sight of CO Barbie looking ready to deliver said beatdown. (Justin had always had a thing for men in uniform.)

While Monty's irritating smirk only grew wider, Justin tried to control his thirst, and the corridor grew icier.

"Let it go, Monty," Bryce muttered, but it looked like it was too late for that.

Goddamn it, Justin knew the new CO would be a hardass. Bloodlust hung in the air, and Justin could almost taste the iron on his tongue already.

"Back in line, de la Cruz," said Dempsey, cutting through the frosty haze of anticipation, "Or it's a shot."

Monty glanced at Bryce, who gave him a subtle nod of approval. The new CO stepped back, letting the more experienced guard take over. Justin slumped, relieved as shit that he didn't have to bust up that pretty face over a shitstain like Monty.

They continued their slow shuffle back to their cells, but Justin didn't relax until he was safely on his bunk, listening to his cellie Luke shuffling a deck of cards and mumbling to himself about blackjack. No longer phased by the lack of privacy inside, Justin simply licked his palm, tuning Luke out as slid one hand into his pants and took himself in hand. His eyes fluttered closed in bliss, picturing creamy pale skin and wide blue eyes framed with thick, dark lashes.

\----

Tyler trembled as he marched in formation back to his cell. This was his first lockdown since tranferring to Crestmont, and he was terrified that Monty would take it out on him. The man was not rational, and he might take out the further infringement on his freedom on Tyler, just because he could.

Cyrus caught his eye and gave him an encouraging smile, but Tyler just trembled, horrified. How was he going to react if Monty attacked him? Would it be better to try and fight back or just take it? If he just took the beating, Monty might relent, or he might choke him to death. But if he fought back, wouldn't that just make Monty angrier-?

"Jesus, fish," Monty snapped, "Don't piss yourself. If you piss yourself, we all gotta smell that shit for days! You think the screws are gonna clean it up in here, when we're on lockdown?"

Tyler shook his head, as he entered the tiny cell they unfortunately shared.

Monty snorted, unimpressed. "You really are just a little bitch aren't you?"

Tyler swallowed, trying to inpersonate someone with more of a backbone.

"No," he said, "I- I don't need to piss, I'm fine."

"Whatever," Monty hissed, before launching himself up onto the top bunk, where he grabbed at his library book and promptly rolled over. Monty clearly wanted to show he wasn't afraid to turn his back on Tyler. Though Tyler was pretty sure he should feel offended at that, mostly he was just so fucking relieved to be left alone. He collapsed onto the bottom bunk and curled his hands about his knees, and prayed for the lockdown to end quickly.

He fully expected to be tapped with Monty, on edge for hours, but to his grand surprise, it was only around an hour of lying on his bed and staring at nothing before a baton unceremoniously smacked against the cell bars. Tyler jumped, his heart trying to leap out of his mouth.

"Let's go, de la Cruz."

Tyler expected Monty to question it. But his legs appeared, dangling from the bunk above, in about two seconds flat. Tyler frowned, confused as to what was happening. Why wasn't Monty complaining? Weren't they supposed to stay in their cells during lockdown?

He didn't dare ask while Monty was being cuffed, ready to be removed from his cell, but when the door slid shut, he couldn't help but sit up.

"Where are you taking him?"

The new CO looked at him dispassionately. Tyler didn't think he would answer, but eventually he said; "Medical."

The look on his face was indecipherable.

They left without another word. Monty was flanked by three guards in total, and they headed toward where Tyler knew the exit from cell block A into the maze of corridors was. Tyler shook his head, confused. But as the minutes ticked by, with the cell all to himself, he settled back onto his bunk with a wide grin, grateful for the break.

\----

  
"Honey, I'm home!" the inmate, de la Cruz, crowed theatrically.

Clay pressed his lips together in a thin line, but he knew better than to say anything that would make the inmate act out further. In many ways, prisoners were just like high school bullies; react to their bullshit, and they only get worse. But you couldn't just walk away from inmates. They were your responsibility. Clay did the sensible thing, watching and waiting to see how the other guards, Dempsey and Crimsen, reacted to de la Cruz's posturing. Noting that they seemed unfazed, Clay remained silent, but he was on high alert, ready to step in if the doctor seemed at all uncomfortable.

The object of de la Cruz's attention was a young doctor, dressed in the typical labcoat, looking bored, with a gentle smile on his lips. Clay felt more relaxed in the sterile medical wing, just looking at him.

"Morning, inmate," said the doctor smoothly, whose labcoat read 'Dr. Williams' in flowing cursive embroidery.

"Top o' the Morning, doc!" replied de la Cruz cheerfully, in a very bad Irish accent.

Dr Williams calmly stepped out of the way, as de la Cruz was directed to the dentist-style reclinable chair. His hands were uncuffed and re-cuffed to the bed without incident. De la Cruz sat waiting for the guards to go through the motions without flinching or bitching, so it was clearly an ordinary routine for him. Despite himself, Clay couldn't help be interested in the proceedings. De la Cruz was clearly a loudmouth, and a troublemaker. It was always best to know which ones to look out for, and which ones were all noise and no bite. So far, the jury was out on de la Cruz.

Clay continued to follow Dempsey and Crimsen's lead. He knew Crimsen from the old joint, though only well enough to pass the time of day with. Clay didn't exactly have many friends. Tony and Sheri were about it. And Jeff, of course. He'd never really been social in high school, and was still too shy in college. That's where he'd met Jeff, who was pretty much the opposite. But Jeff's friends really remained Jeff's.

"Nothing outside the ordinary," said Dr Williams, glancing at the chart in his hands, "How are you feeling today?"

"Peachy keen, doc," said de la Cruz, with a cheeky wink.

"Mhmm," mumurred Dr Williams, setting down the chart. He tinkered with something on the table beside them that Clay couldn't quite see, then he was snapping on a pair of gloves.

Clay glanced at Dempsey, who gave him a reassuring grin.

"You good doc?" said Dempsey.

"Sure," said the doctor, and almost before the word was out his mouth, Dempsey and Crimsen made for the door.

Clay frowned, confused. He was pretty sure they weren't supposed to leave dangerous inmates alone with the medical staff, unless they were in surgery.

"Jeeze, at least by me dinner first," de la Cruz quipped as the doctor began to tug at the side of his pants, exposing one of his hips.

Immediately understanding, Clay turned away and hurried after the other two guards into the empty hallway. Medical was blessedly quiet, the only part of the prison that seemed actually clean. Dempsey offered him a knowing smirk so Clay rolled his eyes, and caught Crimsen doing the same.

"Let me guess; insulin?" said Clay.

"He shoots, he scores," Dempsey confirmed with way too much enthusiasm.

"Ugh, enough with the sports references, before I gag," said Crimsen.

Clay and Dempsey both laughed at that, and Clay soon forgot that he had ever been worried about leaving the doctor alone with the troublemaker.

\----

"You gotta tone it down, babe," said Winston softly, as he tucked the small baggie of oxy into Monty's pocket. "Especially around the new guy."

Monty smirked, completely and utterly unapologetic, licking his lips brazenly. Then he frowned, considering the new screw again, as Winston cleaned his hip with a swab.

"What's the deal with him, anyway?" he asked.

Winston shrugged, focused on his task.

"First time I've met him," he replied, "It's not his first rodeo, but the warden doesn't exactly send around a memo. I think he knows Crimsen, though."

"Oh yeah? Reckon he got in her pants?"

Winston sighed, shooting him an unimpressed look as he placed the used antiseptic swab aside and began preparing the needle.

"What?" Monty pressed. He didn't like not knowing what was going on. He hated to be left out of the loop.

"Not everything is about sex, babe."

Monty scoffed, incredulous. That was absolutely a lie, and he was about to say so, but Winston cut him off by leaning over him and placing a gentle, lazy kiss on his lips. Monty groaned, wishing he wasn't cuffed, and he could run his fingers through Winston's hair and squeeze that tight ass.

Just as he was really getting into it, he felt a sharper than usual sting in his hip, as Winston stuck him with the needle.

"Ow, shit!" Monty hissed, "You did that on purpose!"

Winston gave him a sweet, butter-wouldn't-melt look as he pulled away and began tidying away the little bottle of insulin. Monty honestly didn't know why it worked on him, when other guys would have gotten a thump for even trying it. There was just something so genuinely sincere about Winston that got under his skin in a way no one else ever had. On the outside, he'd had girls, and inside, various bitches. He wasn't some virgin, who fell for the first person who got him off. And yet...

Monty would deny it to anyone who suggested it, but he really did like the Doc. It wasn't just about keeping him sweet for the dope and the info. Monty liked being around him, liked making him smile. He really, _really_ liked it.

As always, their time together was too short; the screws came back and Winston was all Dr 'I ain't got time for your nonsense' again.

"Until tomorrow, darlin'," Monty drawled, puckering his lips into a big kiss.

He reckoned he was the only one who realised that Winston was smiling with his eyes, even though his pressed lips and raised eyebrow tried to say he was unaffected by the flirting. Monty obediently allowed the screws to lead him away with a big, stupid grin on his face.

\----

Clay pinched the bridge of his nose as he collapsed into his sagging couch. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he reluctantly glanced at it to see if it was anything important. He swiped to unlock several missed calls from Jeff. Swallowing thickly, Clay put his phone down. He glanced around at his sparse apartment, rather than facing the fact he would have to call his ex back. The apartment remained pretty much the same as it had been, back when they shared it together. The furniture was still the stuff they’d picked out together from Ikea, and then squabbled over how to assemble. They'd fucked on this couch, at the kitchen counter, against that shelving unit, in that shower, and that bed.....

Clay screwed his eyes shut in an effort to forget, and after a long, deep breath, he opened them again. It was okay. They were over, and he was fine, and everything was okay.

It didn't matter that the books that Jeff loved were still mixed with Clay’s graphic novels. Or that their favourite Xbox games were still mingled. So what if Jeff hadn’t taken much when he’d taken off, and Clay couldn’t bring himself to throw any of it out? All their stuff was his stuff too, even if it had been Jeff’s initially. They had shared almost everything, and that was fine. It was all good.

Clay knew Sheri thought it was kinda lame that Clay couldn’t even bring himself to move a few things about. But she was too kind to say anything. She didn’t need to; Clay already understood. It was pathetic to pine. But what other choice did he have? He and Jeff had been together since _college_. They'd been roomates. Jeff was the first significant relationship he'd hand. He honestly thought Jeff was ‘the one’. He hadn't ever thought about the future and what it would look like without Jeff in it.

Clay didn't know he would need to learn how to function as anything other than one half of ClayandJeff. No one ever told Clay he needed to be independent. Which was why Jeff left him in the first place. He was too fucking needy.

Clay thought they had been solid, enviable. They didn’t bicker or break up constantly like some couples they knew. And now Clay was stuck in this weird limbo, where everyone was pitying him for not being able to ‘move on’, yet they never said _how_ he should be doing that. Beyond just ‘playing the field’ and hooking up with ‘a few random hotties’ as Sheri put it. Clay wasn’t that kind of guy. He wanted to be in a relationship. He wanted to be working towards a real future with... someone. He didn’t just want to date a bunch of guys that would use him, and then leave.

Swallowing thickly, Clay pressed the call back button, and held the phone to his ear. It didn’t ring for very long before Jeff picked up.

Clay paused awkwardly, still not sure how the hell to navigate this.

“Hey, what’s up?” Clay finally said softly, “You called me?”

“Hey,” said Jeff, seemingly at ease, “I just… I heard you’re working at Crestmont max now.”

Clay felt his face contort into a series of crumpled confused expressions. They hadn’t talked for ages, and _this_ is what Jeff was ringing about? His new fucking job, that was exactly the same as his old one, just a few more miles down the road?

“Yeah,” Clay said eventually, still bemused.

“I’m- I’m just worried about you,” Jeff confessed, with a hissing sound like he was letting out a long breath, “Clay, you said you’d never work max-”

“I said I believe in rehabilitation, not retribution, and max isn’t a great environment to promote that,” Clay interrupted, “But the position at Crestmont came up. What’s this about? How’d you find out anyway?”

Cay suddenly wanted this conversation to end, immediately. He had a bad feeling they were about to get into a fight, and he was so sick of fighting with Jeff. Jeff huffed, clearly annoyed. Clay had to bite back the need to sarcastically thank him for his concern. Jeff didn’t need to be concerned about Clay’s choices; they weren’t together anymore, so why did he care?

“Your mom told me,” Jeff admitted, which had Clay clenching his jaw in annoyance.

He’d had a feeling that his mother and Jeff still talked, but he hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it. It was one thing for them to remain friends, and quite another for them to be bitching about his choices behind his back, however. Clay resolved to have a serious talk with his mom about boundaries.

“…you’re pissed at me.” Jeff correctly guessed, when Clay remained silent.

“I just don’t get what you’re trying to tell me,” said Clay, scooting around his feelings, to get back to the issue at hand; “Why’d you call me?”

“Clay, you’re a clever, talented guy. Any industry would be happy to have you. Hell, the county sheriff’s office is damn understaffed-”

This again? Clay wanted to scream. He got that Jeff didn’t approve of his career choice, but couldn’t he at least respect Clay enough to stop pushing him about it?

“You don’t get to say that to me,” he snapped.

“Clay-”

“No, Jeff,” Clay snarled, “_You_ walked out on _me,_ remember? _You_ left _me._ You don’t get to call me up out of the blue, and tell me what do with my work, or my car or- or- whatever the fuck! So back off!”

Jeff let out a small wounded noise, which immediately made Clay feel like an asshole. For a long moment they both just breathed down the heavy line.

“We’re still friends, aren’t we?” whispered Jeff, “I didn’t just stop caring about you, Clay. You gotta know that.”

Clay rubbed his eyes, suddenly aware they were stinging.

“I know,” he said, “But Jeff- it’s my life. I get to decide. You left me, so… So now it’s only me.”

Clay hated himself for choking up. He felt a tear dribbling down his cheek and wondered when he'd started crying.

“Yeah,” Jeff sighed, “I know. Fuck. Fuck! This isn’t how I saw this conversation going. I just wanted to make sure that you were safe.”

“As safe as I can be,” Clay murmured, then abruptly finished with; “Listen, I gotta go.”

“Clay-”

Jeff’s voice was a worried squeak, but Clay ignored the painful, needy twinge in his gut that told him to keep up the conversation, and hung up. He knew better than to think it would go anywhere but in circles, round and round. He flopped back onto the couch, and curled up into a ball, trying and failing not to cry.


	3. 0

Zach kept thrusting as he came with a heavy moan, then he collapsed in a heap, pressing kisses into Alex's sweaty neck affectionately. He snuggled into Alex with a happy sigh, pleased with himself. Enjoying the afterglow, Alex stroked Zach's cheek affectionately, unusually sweet whenever he was blissed out. Zach hummed appreciatively, leaning into the soft, welcome touch. As always, Alex's natural prissiness came roaring back a few seconds later.

  
"Get off me, you oaf," Alex moaned, slapping at Zach’s chest.

  
"Sorry," said Zach, unrepentantly, with a big cocky smile, as he gently pulled out, leaving Alex with an unwelcome feeling of emptiness.

  
Alex huffed as Zach slid off him, landing heavily at his side. They lay in a pile of sweaty limbs for a long, wonderful moment. Then Alex groaned loudly, as he caught sight of the time, glaring at him from their bedside alarm clock.

  
"Wanna share a shower?" asked Zach with a blatant leer.

  
"Fuck off, Dempsey," Alex snarled petulantly, "Don't dangle that in front of me. All this sex is gonna kill me someday."

  
Zach snorted, but he swaggered into the en suite bathroom alone without futher comment. Alex bit his plump lower lip, irritated that Zach was always so confident. He had every reason to be, of course. Zach was tall, athletic and handsome. He didn't have a fucked-up leg, that prevented him from being a guard around the lifers in gen pop. Ever since the incident, Alex had been transferred to block C with the old biddies. 

  


It was a snooze fest.The most exciting thing that happened in block C, was a con's grandkid barfing in the visiting area. It was getting harder and harder to deal with it. Alex was used to more fire than this. Used to breaking up fights and subduing cons. He thought fucking more often would help, but that was only starting to irritate him more, knowing he wasn’t as limber and energetic as he used to be. And Zach was so unfailingly nice and patient about it all. Infuriatingly good, so Alex couldn’t even get mad at him. Whenever he tried to pick a fight, Zach would always placate him somehow.  
  
Alex rolled onto his stomach, grabbing up a thick pillow. He jammed his face into the linen and screamed, loud and unrestrained. When he tossed it aside, his fingers were trembling.

  
With a heavy sigh, Alex clumsily rolled out of bed and reached for his robe, then his cane. He didn't use the cane at work, of course. Against the regs. But he couldn't put his leg brace on, until he'd had a shower and dressed. He hobbled to the bathroom doorway, which Zach had left open, because of course he had. Zach wasn't self-conscious about his body, and he had no need to be. Hating himself for being such a pussy, Alex offered Zach a grin.

  
"Looking hot, babe," he said.

  
"Yeah?" said Zach, busy soaping up. His dark hair was flopped over his forehead, heavy with water, making him look ten years younger.

  
"You know it," Alex said, grinning up at him, as he fiddled with the hem of his sleeve.

They got ready with the ease of familiarity, weaving in and out of each other’s paths smoothly. But when it came time to strap on his leg brace, Alex’s hands were too jittery to get a proper grip, and the snaps wouldn’t slip together.

“Goddamn it!”

“Hey, I got it,” said Zach soothingly, quickly crouching beside him, taking hold of the offending pieces and expertly slotting them together.

Alex looked away, roughly shoving his hands into the chair in an effort to stop them from shaking. He wasn’t sure it worked, but Zach didn’t say anything.

The drive to work was more subdued than usual, with Alex sipping at his travel mug of coffee religiously, to keep his hands busy.

“You okay?” said Zach, “You seem kinda on edge.”

Alex shrugged, carefully affecting an air of indifference.

“New fish today,” he reminded Zach, who nodded sagely, eyes on the road.

“Yeah, I feel that. How many for C?”

“Fucking ten. Where are we gonna cram them in?”

Zach shrugged, just as mystified as him. The prison was already at almost maximum capacity, and that made Alex nervous. Overcrowding was a nationwide problem, but so far they’d been pretty lucky. He didn’t relish the prospect of joining the ranks of the super-populated joints. It was an excellent distraction for Zach, who began to wax lyrical on how there was nothing to fear, since they ran a ‘tight ship’. Alex loved him for being so positive, whilst simultaneously hating himself for being such a liar.

The rest of the way, he stared out the window at the familiar, dusty landscape and tried to remember how lucky he was.

When they pulled up, Zach hurried round the car to offer him a helping hand out. Alex smiled thinly, pressing down the ugly urge to be resentful.

“Not enough coffee,” he said, in an effort to explain his sour mood.

In the shadow of Crestmont Correctional, Zach pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his forehead, the height distance between them making it an easy move to pull off.

“I love you, Mrs Dempsey,” he said, bestowing Alex with a quick, affectionate squeeze.

As they separated, Alex returned the sentiment immediately.

“And I love you, Mrs Standall.”

Sometimes, Alex wondered if Zach possibly knew how much.

  
\----

  
Clay poured himself a strong cup of coffee, wincing at the taste. He never really got into it. He preferred orange juice with breakfast normally. But he'd had a shitty night's sleep, and Jeff's coffee was right there on the counter, so.

  
By the time he arrived at CC, his bad temper had only increased with his headache. He grunted a greeting to Crimsen, who offered him an unsympathetic look. She probably thought he'd been up all night partying or getting laid or something. Clay didn't bother to correct her assumptions, stripping out of his leather jacket and quickly buttoning up his uniform shirt. He clipped on his radio, then reached into his locker for his utility belt, attaching his handcuffs and baton with the efficiency of long practice.

He started the day with shower duty. This was the weirdest part of max; standing around with his arms crossed, while a bunch of random guys stripped off. You’d think it wouldn’t be a big deal, cause he’d gone to gym class, just like everyone else. But no. It was weird. Because Clay wasn’t there to have a shower himself, wasn’t expected to mind his business and ignore the proceedings. He was there to make sure no one got shanked or shived or raped. So he had to stand there like an asshole, actively watching. Thankfully, it was a shifting rotation, and he was extremely relieved at the change-over.

He had command duty next, in the booth overlooking the yard. It was a snooze job unless it was rec time, and right now was chow time, so the yard was empty except for a few pigeons.

CO Dempsey joined him, slipping into the chair at Clay’s side with the relaxed smile of a guy that definitely just got laid. Great. Clay expected to be treated to a horrible monologue about whatever girl Dempsey had been with, but was pleasantly surprised when other man only said,

“Hey, man. So, you play any sports?”

Clay blinked. His headache seemed to have been eased somewhat by the steam in the shower room, improving his mood at last.

“Sure,” he said, “If Xbox counts.”

Dempsey laughed. “I feel that. Call of Duty?”

Clay wrinkled his nose. “More… Assassin’s Creed.”

“Dude!” Dempsey’s handsome face lit up, and he proceeded to regale Clay with his opinions.

Despite himself, Clay found himself smiling too, swept up in his enthusiasm.

\----

Alex watched the proceedings from the balcony, jaw clenched tightly as the new inmates shuffled in, freshly scrubbed and verbally harangued. Since C was old timers, he didn’t often have to deal with fresh fish. Most of these guys were repeat reoffenders, institutionalised and unable to cope in the real world. But that didn’t mean the occasional nutter didn’t slip in. Most of C were subdued, waiting to die between games of dominos. But for every sleepwalker, there was a true psycho who had managed to give super-max the slip, and slithered though the crowd like a shark through a shoal.

Alex narrowed his eyes, wondering who, if any, of these newbies might be that predator hiding in plain sight. But from up here, all the roaches looked the same.

\----

“Fresh fish! Fresh fish!” the inmates roared.

The noise was deafening. They were banging on the bars of their cells with library books, stomping and screaming, making obscene gestures and generally doing their best to scare the newbies shitless. Justin looked down into the inner courtyard just like everyone else, his arms looped through the bars, to catch a glimpse of the terrified new prisoners. Beside him, Luke was eagerly assessing the fish.

“Three cigs on that one,” he said, pointing to a tall, slim, baby-faced guy.

The fish in question was more boy than man, probably tried as an adult despite being a minor. His pale blue eyes were wide and terrified. No-one had thought to give him a clipped cut to make him less attractive, so he still had a tumble of curls, perfect for grabbing.

“Fuck that,” said Justin, “No deal. He’s the one for sure.”

Luke pouted, but he didn’t protest.

\----

Charlie tried his best to control his breathing, digging his nails into his palms. Silently, he chanted a mantra reminding himself not to cry. He’d seen enough movies to know if he cried, he’d be someone’s bitch for sure. Though that was probably inevitable, given that he was as thin as a twig compared to most of these hardened cons. He was so fucking dead, unless he found someone to protect him.

Swallowing thickly, eyes burning, Charlie forced himself to face the truth. If he wanted to survive, he was going to have to join a gang.

Please don’t let it be the Nazis, he thought, I can do this, as long as its not the fucking Nazis.

The prison was more like a zoo; a cacophony of noise, savage men hooting and hollering at him from every angle. Disoriented, Charlie kept his eyes fixed on the man in front, as they were hurried to their cells, one by one.

When it was finally his turn, Charlie was ushered into a tiny, bleak room, with a bunk-bed, metal toilet, and tiny shelf that served as a desk. There were a couple of pictures on the wall, and a few books. But Charlie saw none of that. He was too busy staring at the knees of his new cellmate. The man was sitting on the top bunk, and he didn’t move as the prison guard behind Charlie unceremoniously shoved him forward.

“Play nice, Reed,” said the guard, but before Charlie had time to react, the guard was gone.

Charlie gulped, then winced. His fear was obvious, and he needed to be brave. He forced himself to look up. A guy in his thirties was leaning casually against the wall, watching Charlie without smiling. He was blonde and handsome, with chiselled features, and a thick-set body. Charlie thought about his ex-girlfriend, who had broken up with him when it was clear he was going down for a long time. He didn’t blame her for protecting herself from the inevitable heartache, but in that moment, he really wished he had a visit from her to look forward to. He had a feeling he was going to need something positive to focus on.

"What up, little fish?" said his new cellmate, "Y'can call me Scott."

Charlie nodded obediently. What else could he do?

\----

Once the excitement of the new prisoner transfer was over, they had all been given a couple of hours to settle in. At last, the cells were opened, and the normal routine finally resumed. Justin hurried out to laundry duty, antsy. He was not planning on returning to his cell until lights out. He stretched his arms above his head, gleefully, his uniform rising up to reveal a thin strip of skin.

To his surprise, as Justin casually glanced around, he felt eyes on him. He saw that CO Jensen was watching him, from the inner yard below. Justin smirked arrogantly. With far more swagger than necessary, Justin made his way to the laundry room. He slid the baggie out of his pocket into his hand, then took hold of the trolly. Walking slowly along the corridor toward the exit to block A, Justin waited with a bland look on his face. The doors slid open with a familiar buzz, CO Crimsen at his side, until half way along the path to block C. She left him with CO Standall without a word.

“Any fun new golden girls?” asked Justin with a smirk.

“Shut it, inmate,” snapped Standall, who was always highly-strung and ready to pop off.

Justin laughed meanly. “Oooh, someone’s extra pissy today. You jonesing already?”

“Fuck you,” Standall hissed, turning toward him as aggressively as his gimp leg would let him.

“Watch it, cripple,” Justin sneered, “Unless you wanna go?”

For a minute, Justin thought he had miscalculated, and Standall might actually clock him in the face. But the shivering screw simply snorted, and stepped aside. Justin smirked, and they continued on to the door into C. When they reached it, Standall slammed his ID against the lock forcefully, letting Justin though. As Justin wheeled the trolly past, his hand effortlessly glided past Standall’s. Their palms met briefly as the little packet of oxy was exchanged, hidden from the camera by the laundry trolly.

\----

In the rec room, Tyler eagerly took a seat beside Cyrus. Despite the arrival of new fish, today had a been a great day, as Tyler had received a letter from his pen pal, Skye.

“She included a picture this time,” said Tyler quietly, knowing it would get stolen if anyone learnt about it. Men on the inside were animals.

“Alright, buddy!” grinned Cyrus enthusiastically, but quietly, “What’s she look like?”

“Pretty,” Tyler said immediately, proud. “But not in a fake way, you know? She’s not super skinny or whatever. Nice smile. Got that two-tone hair colour thing, blond and black.”

“Streaks?” asked Cryrus, but Tyler shook his head.

“More like, dipped in black, you know?”

“Oh, I get you,” said his friend, and they proceeded to talk about Skye’s letter, and the lives real people were living, out there in the real world.

\----

In the staff toilet, Alex fumbled and almost dropped the bag of oxy, his hands trembling uncontrollably now. He jammed a pill in his mouth, swallowing it dry. He sighed in blessed relief, though it would take longer than a few minutes for the pain to ease. The placebo effect had Alex feeling serene within seconds, and he slumped against the wall, taking a deep breath.

He shoved the bag with four remaining pills in his top pocket that was more for decoration than any real use, and carefully buttoned it. Then Alex flushed the toilet, then went through the motions of washing his hands, avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. He shuffled back to his post with a bland, unaffected look. It was getting easier and easier to force himself to be calm.

Easier and easier to accept he was a fucking junkie.


	4. 0

“Listen up, little fish,” said Charlie’s new cellmate.

They had finally been released from their cell into the main prison, and Charlie was eager to get out and stretch his legs. He couldn’t believe that tonight he was going to be his first night in real, actual prison. He was trapped in here, caged in like a beast, and there was no way out. No one was coming to save him.

“I know you’re all ansty now,” said Scott, cutting into Charlie’s increasingly hysterical thoughts.

“You don’t fuck with me, and I won’t fuck with you, got it?” he continued.

Charlie nodded vigorously. That was more than acceptable. He did not want to make enemies on his first day. Or ever. If he wanted to survive, he needed to be unimportant, overlooked.

“See ya,” Scott finished unceremoniously, beginning to walk backward away from Charlie, with a faint smirk on his face.

He was completely at ease in his surroundings, whereas Charlie was feeling his heart begin to pound. This was really real. He was going to be stuck here, in fucking prison, with all these fucking murderers and rapists and gangs, and he had no doubt it was worse than he’d ever been shown on TV. He was going to get fucking murdered, and his mother would howl at his funeral and tell some local newspaper that he had been ‘a good boy with a bright future’ and that would be the last anyone thought about him. He’d be just another dead con, swept under the rug and forgotten. He was going to die.

“Wait!” Charlie cried, “Scott, wait up!”

He scurried after the older man wildly, adrenaline making him shaky. Scott had turned away, but at Charlie’s strangled yelp, he stopped walking and lazily turned to face Charlie again. He stood waiting for him to stop acting like a goddamn lunatic, with an amused look on his face. Scott was clearly unfazed by Charlie acting like a fucking idiot.

“Can I- Uh – I mean, I’ve never – Can I sit with you?”

There was a long, uncomfortable moment, where Scott looked him up and down inscrutably, assessing Charlie from top to toe. Charlie bit his lip as he waited, wondering what Scott might be looking for. He squared his shoulders, deciding to stand up straight. He was young and healthy, strong from playing college football. Charlie was no slouch. He ate right and he could be useful. Scott evidently thought so too, because he snorted and said;

“Sure thing, St. George.”

Then Scott turned abruptly again, and began walking along the balcony to the stairs. Charlie hurried after him. He immediately felt a little safer, having successfully navigated his first few hours in prison, without getting beat to shit or otherwise terrorised. Now he had someone who was willing to let him follow him around, and that could only be a good sign.

“You can call me Charlie,” he offered warmly.

Scott stopped up short, causing Charlie to skitter away, in an effort to prevent them from colliding. Another prisoner barged past them, offering Charlie a sneer as he went. Scott was completely unbothered by this.

“First lesson, little fish,” he said, “Stop trying so hard to be friendly. These cons are gonna eat you alive, if you keep smiling like a wet dream.”

Wide-eyed, Charlie nodded.

“And get a haircut, fucking Christ,” Scott continued, reaching up and tugging harshly on Charlie’s curls.

Charlie winced, but he didn’t complain.

“Yeah, exactly. This-“ Scott shook Charlie’s head roughly, before blessedly letting him go, “- this is just a signed invitation to get fucked.”

Charlie let out an involuntary whimper. He knew prison rape was prolific, but to hear an actual convict come right out and say it, made him want to puke.

“And Jesus Christ, St George. Don’t wander off. I don’t wanna scrape you up if I don’t hafta.”

Tentatively, Charlie nodded. He followed Scott closely down to the inner courtyard, wanting very much to puke.

“This is the pit,” said Scott, waving his hand about vaguely, as they descended into the middle of the open-plan cell block, that all the individual cells looked down into.

“Rec room is this way,” he said, pointing to the left, “Yard too. Weights room is that way. Commisary’s after that. You got anything in your account yet?”

Charlie shook his head, even though he had deposited money on the recommendation of his lawyer. He didn’t want Scott to ask how much cash he’d put into it. He might try and get Charlie to buy him things.

“You wanna get that sorted,” said Scott blandly.

Before he could say anything else, another young prisoner approached them wearing a nasty smirk. Charlie successfully held his ground and did not step back, even when he new man came too close and leered at him.

“Hey Scotty,” said the sneering man, “This your new cellie?”

Scott nodded, placing one hand on Charlie’s back to shove him forward. Charlie was getting real sick of people doing that already, but he got the message, holding out a hand to the other guy.

“Charlie St. George,” he introduced himself.

The convict was smaller than Charlie, but he didn’t seem like it. He stood with the kind of lazy confidence of a man in his element. Charlie shuffled on the spot, feeling extremely uneasy. He did not like that smirk. But he also had an inkling that he was going to get the same bad vibes off most of the guys in here. Charlie dropped his hand, once he realised the other guy was making a point not to shake it, flushing bright red. He was making an ass of himself, revealing how new to all this he was.

“Monty,” said the strange convict shortly, before turning to Scott again.

“Are you taking him to Bryce?”

Scott shrugged. “You wanna come lift, St. George? Or you gonna stay here?”

It was a test, Charlie knew it. Stay or go? Be alone, or join his gang, which apparently included Monty.

Charlie swallowed thickly, knowing this decision was crucial, but unable to predict what the hell the outcome might be. All he knew about Scott so far, was that he was willing to give Charlie some advice. That had to mean something, right?

“Sure,” said Charlie, “I’ll come.”

\---

Tyler was heading back to his cell. He’d seen Monty in the weights room on his way back from the commissary, and that meant he could read his book in peace. Tyler’s paperwork from the educational program he had signed up to before he’d been transferred had come though, so he could continue with his degree. He was inside for long enough that it made no sense not to do it. There were few opportunities available for convicted felons outside. Most companies wouldn’t employ them. So Tyler had decided to do a degree in business, so that he could start his own company. That way he’d not have to rely on anyone else.

He ignored the blatant exchange of drugs he saw on the way back to his cell, and averted his eyes from the Hillcrest crew, who were moving out to the yard en masse. Tyler didn’t want any part of that rivalry shit. He was here to do his time and get his life back on track. He averted his eyes when he saw a shiv being hidden in the cell wall of a much older con.

Tyler did not stare, or make eye contact with anyone. He simply went on his way, minding his own business.

\---

Alex escorted yet another aged con to his weekly check up, with a heavy heart. He was bored as fuck, as he helped unshackle the man’s cuffs, and re-cuffed him to the chair. Dr Williams offered him a subdued smile, which Alex returned reflexively. Then he was on autopilot again, waiting for the doc to run through his tests and questions, quietly and efficiently.

Alex’s fingers tapped out a melody on his arm, as he stood with them crossed over his chest. Idly, he wondered what Zach was doing. He missed working directly beside his husband, day in and out. Everything was better back then.

Maybe they should book a holiday or something, he mused. Have something fun to look forward to. Or they could even on a road trip, and visit some of Zach’s annoying jock friends. That might be fun, if there was a beach. Alex couldn’t surf with his fucked-up leg, but he could still swim and more importantly, he could watch Zach fooling around on the sand in just his trunks. God, that would be fantastic.

\---

Once he was done with laundry duty, Justin sauntered toward the weights room. He popped an oxy on his way, after a slow, careful check of his surroundings. It being their usual hang out, Bryce and Monty were lifting, with Scott and Luke spotting them. A couple of the other Tigers were milling about, shooting the breeze. And next to Scott was the new fish, the one that Justin figured for a crier.

He shared a knowing smirk with Luke, before introducing himself.

The wide-eyed college boy did his best to be calm, which told Justin there was hope for him yet.

“So what are you in for?” asked the naive kid, Charlie St. George.

Justin laughed incredulously. “Wow, you’re green.”

Scott’s new cellie blushed, embarrassed.

“It’s no sweat, St. George,” Justin reassured him. Bryce would get pissy if Justin scared him off.

Still, he couldn’t resist playing with him a little.

“What d’you reckon?” he asked with a nudge, making the kid tense up again.

St. George’s eyes flickered all about them, looking for help. But Monty and Bryce were busy, and too self-centred besides.

“Um, maybe, robbery?” he asked, clearly hedging his bets.

It wasn’t a bad guess exactly, and Justin had done his fair share of breaking and entering, looking for shit to sell in order to score. But he couldn’t let the little fish think they were homies just yet, so Justin threw back his head and laughed.

“Nah, that’s all Scotty, he’s the one shooting up convenience stores,” Justin said with a cheerful wink, before moving towards an empty set of weights.

\---

Monty shook out the crick in his neck, with a heavy sigh of dissatisfaction. He’d gotten even less time with Winston than usual today. Sometimes he managed to get a handy, depending on how much time they could scratch. And couple of times, when Monty had been stuck in medical overnight, Winston had actually climbed on board and ridden him like a champ. Under those ugly scrubs, Winston was a pretty little twink. God, Monty wanted to fuck him again. He glanced about, wondering if there was anyone about who could help him dislocate his trick shoulder, and get him sent back to medical for the night.

But there was only Justy, thirsting after the new screw and trying to play coy about it. Justy was playing with fire. CO Jensen looked like he’d rather break his nose than suck him off. Then again, maybe Justy was into that freaky shit. He’d always been a little weirdo.

Monty glared at his pussy of a cellmate, Down, as he passed a little too close for Monty’s liking, pleased when the younger guy skittered off like a frightened rabbit. Monty flexed his fists, irritated. God, what would it take to get a little entertainment around here?

\---

Despite fully knowing CO Jensen wasn’t one to be fucked with, Justin couldn’t help but offer him a playful smile on the way back to his cell.

“Sooooo, what’s your name?” he asked, in his best impression of a charming,‘boy next door’ type.

CO Jensen glared at him.

“None of your business, inmate,” he said waspishly.

Justin wanted to drop to his knees right there, but he wasn’t suicidal. Jensen was going to need work, if Justin was going to get off against him any time soon.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Justin pouted, making sure to stay well out of range so the guard didn’t feel threatened, “I know this trick, I bet I can guess.”

The new screw said nothing, but Justin remained undeterred,

“Okay, see, I’m going to use the power of telepathy,” said Justin, “Your name begins with... A, B, C-”

The guard’s mouth twitched. It was just a minute movement, but it was enough to give him away.

“Ha! Okay, let’s see, Chris? Caleb? No not Caleb. Um, Cole? Connor? Cl-”

“Enough, inmate,” said CO Jensen, but although his tone was dire, his eyes had warmed up a little, so Justin counted that as a win.

He laughed and turned down the passageway before the screw spoilt his victory by threatening to give him a shot.

\---

Clay’s shift ended without fanfare, and he packed up his shit roughly, slinging his belongings into his bag. He took a quick shower at home, tugging on his sweats and landing on his couch again as usual. There was absolute silence in the apartment. Clay glanced at his watch, since COs weren't allowed phones outside the locker room, and Clay was now fully accustomed to using one regularly.

“Fuck this,” said Clay, slamming back into his bedroom. He roughly pulled off his sweats, then rifled through his wardrobe for a pair of jeans.

He was back in the car and on the road in less than ten minutes. He missed most of the rush hour traffic, only catching the beginning of it as he entered the suburbs. The driveway was only occupied with one car as he pulled up. Clay jogged up the stairs, letting himself into the house with the key on his chain.

“Hey, honey. You want that leftover risotto? Or maybe we should get take-out from that Thai place. You know the one, with the lotus?”

“Take out, definitely,” said Clay nonchalantly as he walked into the kitchen, where his Dad was sitting at the table with a small pile of paperwork and an open laptop. Clay tossed his keys on the table like he was still sixteen and just coming back from school, having just locked up his bicycle beside the garage.

“Clay!” said Matt brightly, “Sorry buddy, I thought you were your mom.”

Clay shrugged, immediately heading for the fridge. He took one swift look at the contents, and helped himself to a bottle of apple juice.

“Use a glass!” Matt said in exasperation, but it was already too late.

Clay offered him an unimpressed look, as he wiped off his mouth. Matt merely took off his glasses. He gave his nose a little rub, where they had been digging into the bridge. He set them carefully down on his paperwork.

“You okay, son?”

Clay shrugged again, putting the carton of juice back without comment. He tapped the fridge door idly, poking at a magnet of a moose from their trip to Canada. Then he turned, and left the kitchen as abruptly as he’d entered, quickly making his way back toward the stairs.

“I want the green curry!” Clay called down as he jogged up the stairs, making a beeline for his room.

“O-kay,” said Matt quietly to himself, as Clay slammed the door and immediately launched himself at his old bed.

Much like his apartment, Clay’s room looked just like it had, before he’d left for college. There were posters for old movies and bands on the walls, a stack of comics on the desk by his window. There was even an old ipod and Beats headphones on there, which Clay immediately stretched out his hand for. He jammed them over his head, sighing in relief when the familiar tunes of his teenage angst came flowing through them.

After his mom arrived home, surprised by the sight of Clay's car in the driveway, Clay and his parents ate their dinner with awkward, stilted conversation. As though Clay invited himself over every week, out of the blue. His parents were kind, generous people, but they had always been a little aloof and Clay had never been super close with either of them. They weren’t warm and loud, like Tony’s family, or even cheery barbeque-hosting people like Sheri's folks. They were quiet and boring, and that was fine. But it made discussing feelings and issues difficult. Clay had always found it easier keeping secrets and omitting the truth, than coming right out and saying what he felt.

“So, honey,” said his mom, “Are you staying the night?”

Clay shrugged, undecided himself. The drive to work would be a bitch in the morning if he did. But he didn’t really relish the idea of going back to his own apartment in the dark either.

“Not that we don’t love the surprise, but is there a reason you came to see us?”

Clay sighed. “Not really. I just wanted to see you guys.”

Lainie smiled widely, seemingly mollified. She exchanged a relieved smile with his dad. Clay wondered if they were worried he was about to announce he was moving back in, or dying, or something else dramatic.

“Well, that’s great,” she said, in what Clay thought of as her ‘charming lawyer voice’. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, we miss you buddy,” his Dad chipped in.

Clay offered his parents an awkward smile, then took a deep breath.

“So, you told Jeff about my new job?” asked Clay, trying and failing to sound casual about it.

“Ah,” said Lainie, putting her glass of white wine back down, “Honey...”

“It’s fine that you talk or whatever, Mom,” Clay jumped in, determined to get it out of the way as soon as possible, “But can you not talk about things, that you know are going to cause arguments?”

“Arguments?” his Dad repeated, “Are you and Jeff-”

“No, Dad,” Clay snapped, “We’re not getting back together. And I really don’t wanna have to keep telling you that.”

There was a horrible moment of ugly quietness, where the only sound was the hum of the fridge.

“I’m sorry,” said Matt, “You’re right, son.”

His mother was watching him with the pale, soulful blue eyes Clay had inherited from her. Clay waited for an apology from her like a fucking idiot, before sighing heavily when none was forthcoming, as per usual. Being a lawyer, his mom saw any apology as an admission of guilt. And if she didn’t feel guilty, she stoutly refused to do it. Clay stood up and began cleaning the table while his parents watched him carefully.

It took approximately five seconds for Clay to lose his shit. With a huff, he slammed the plates back down.

“You know what, fuck it. Tell Jeff whatever the fuck you want. I’m sorry I’m such a huge disappointment that HE LEFT ME!” Clay yelled.

“Clay!”

“WHAT?” Clay exploded, shoving back from the kitchen table to stand with his arms crossed, unconsciously mirroring his posture at work.

“You’re not a disappointment,” said Lainie, “How could you ever think that?”

“Oh, really? So you’re not pissed that I won’t change my job? Or that Jeff and me-”

Ever the peacemaker, his father stood up and approached Clay slowly, reaching out to pat him gently on the shoulder, as if Clay was a ruffled puppy that needed affection.

“We love you, son,” he said.

Clay looked between them; his mother with her pitying eyes in her sharp business skirt-suit, his father in a plaid shirt and grey cardigan, looking rumpled and tired. They were so sheltered, Clay wanted to scream. So gentle and innocent. For all the fucked up things they had probably heard of, he doubted they’d never actually been in the thick of anything. How could they begin to comprehend the things Clay had to handle on a daily basis, and how that changed you?

“I’m gonna go,” Clay announced, reaching for his keys where they had been moved to the sideboard during dinner.

“No, Clay, don’t drive angry, please,” said Lainie, “Please just stay, okay? We love you, and we are so proud of you. We want to hear all about your new job, and we can watch a movie-”

“Black Panther 3, we just got that, on the box thingy,” Matt added, nodding enthusiastically.

Clay sighed, but relented, knowing his mom was right. He was too tired and pissed off to drive, and he allowed his father to direct him into the living room, whilst his mother cleared up the plates. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment :(  
RIOT in the next chapter!


End file.
